


You Don't Play Favorites

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [76]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Dirty Talk, M/M, Steve Rogers is a Perv Bless Him, Teacher/Student Roleplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 06:23:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15213098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Steve needs to leave to teach his 8 AM class. Tony would strongly prefer that he didn't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of an earlier Mental Mimosa ficlet, "Carried Away From the Shore."
> 
> For the purists among you, chapter 1 is the original ficlet; chapter 2 is the result of today's writing.

“I don’t like having to share you with the world.”

Steve shook his head and rolled out of bed, padded towards the bathroom. “Hardly the world, Tone. Just my eight AM class.”

“So you’d choose a horde of malcontent teenagers--none of whom want to be sitting in your class this early, babe, I’m sorry; not a one--over me. I see how it is.”

“Believe it or not,” Steve called, his voice bouncing off the tile, “this isn’t about you.”

Tony fell back with a sigh, turned over and buried himself in the warm sink of the sheets that Steve had so cruelly abandoned. “Yeah, yeah: your job, the kids, the future. Sure. That’s all well and good. You dash off to shape their minds and leave your boyfriend’s poor, lonely body cold and alone in this bed. Right.”

Steve stuck his head around the door jam, his toothbrush stuck sideways in his mouth. “I can turn up the heat when I leave.”

“Hilarious.” Tony shot his eyes up to the ceiling, at the first gray streaks of dawn there, waiting. “Never let it be said you’re not generous, Rogers.”

He lay back and listened to Steve’s familiar morning sounds: the sound of running water, a splash. The tap of a toothbrush on the edge of the sink. Then water again. The clink of a comb.

It was unusual for him to wake up when Steve did, especially on Tuesdays and Thursdays when Steve crept out of bed before dawn. Usually, he’d stir a little when Steve said goodbye, when he laid his lips over Tony’s forehead or his cheek, but otherwise would pass the godawful early time as the Lord had intended humans to do: asleep.

But this morning, he’d been awake before Steve--a bad dream, maybe, or a good one--and wormed his way under Steve’s oak tree of an arm, pressed his head back against Steve’s chest, the place he always started the night and invariably drifted from, driftwood carried away from the shore by the tides.

His pouting was partly for show, partly because some part of him could never resist trying to wind Steve Rogers up, no matter how Sisyphean the task. The man was pretty unflappable anyway, most of the time, but when it came to his students--especially the 90-odd freshmen in his World History survey--his dedication and focus could not be shaken.

Or could they?

Steve stepped out of the bathroom, still shirtless, his khakis already pulled up and belted neat. He moved quietly, efficiently, as he no doubt did every morning while Tony was still dead to the world; stepped into the closet and rustled about for a shirt. A white one. He always wore white when he taught. He said--Tony pursed his lips; what was it he said?--that white hid the chalk dust best.

Tony had seen him teach before, had perched at the back of the class, high up in the lecture hall, and watched Steve navigate the room, the time, his audience like a performer; as much an actor, Tony thought, as an instructor. He was engaging and funny and stern as hell when they didn’t do as well on a test as they should have; a great listener and a tough grader; a giver of advice and counsel as often as one of grades. Steve was damn good at it, teaching, and even all Tony’s money and the lure of some carefree, fly-away life hadn’t been able to drag him away from this little New England town and back to New York where they’d met. So Tony had come here, stayed up in the admittedly picturesque boonies for weeks at a stretch before the song of the city dragged him home for a little while. But he could never stay away from Steve long.

Maybe that was what had him so moody this morning: he was supposed to go back tomorrow, he had to; there was a meeting of the executive committee that he couldn’t miss. Wanted to, very badly, because most meetings made him want to throw himself off a bridge, but couldn’t. It was part of the gig. Of his father’s legacy and all that.

But he was here now. And Steve was, at least for another few minutes. And maybe, maybe, Tony could persuade him to stay.

Steve stepped back into the room, a half-buttoned white shirt hanging from his shoulders. He was wearing his thinking face, too; no doubt already reviewing the day’s lesson in his head. Well. Huh. Tony could work with that.

He sat up and let the sheets fall by the wayside, tried not to smirk when Steve jumped a little, startled out of his reverie. “Tony, god,” Steve said. “I thought you’d gone back to sleep.”

Tony didn’t answer. Just stared in a way he hoped was baleful from under his eyelashes.

“Uh, sweetheart?” Steve squinted at him in the shadows. “You ok?”

“I need to talk to you,” Tony said, the words even breathier than they had been in his head. “Do you have a minute?”

Steve moved towards him, concern flickering over that broad, beautiful face. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

Tony bit his lip and looked away and that got him a hand on his cheek, the open cuff of Steve’s shirt kissing his chin.

“Tony,” Steve said softly. “Hey. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Tony took a deep breath. This was either gonna be brilliant or a disaster. Maybe a double scoop of both.

He looked up into Steve’s eyes, made his own as wide and uncertain as he could. “I really need your help, Professor Rogers.”

Steve froze: his fingers, his face, the whole deal. But he didn’t stop touching Tony, didn’t recoil in horror or anything. Ok. Tony would take that.

“It’s my last paper,” he said. “The grade that I got, I don’t--I can’t take something like that home. My dad’ll kill me.”

His wince was real--he hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t meant to let real life drift too close to whatever this was, fantasy--but so was the sigh that snuck out of him when Steve’s thumb found his lips.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Steve said in his lecture voice, the one that brooked no quarter, that knew all the answers. “But maybe you should’ve tried harder. I can’t give you credit for work that you didn't do."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Tony let his face fall. “Oh.”

“I mean, it wouldn’t be fair to the other students, would it, if I did something like that.”

“No, of course not.” Steve’s thumb found the turn of Tony’s jaw and stroked, a long, solid line, and it made sense for Tony’s character to shiver, surely. “I know you’re not like that, Professor Rogers.”

“Like what?” Steve asked.

“Unfair. Everybody knows you don’t play favorites.”

Steve laughed softly and edged a step closer. “Just because I don’t play favorites doesn’t mean that I don’t have favorites, though.” He slid his hand from Tony’s face and wound it instead in his hair and the look in his eye, the gentle force of his grip, made Tony feel like a butterfly caught in a tiger’s paw. “Like you. You’re one of my favorites, Tony.”

“I am?” He didn’t have to ape the short of breath thing now.

Steve’s fingers turned fist and he pulled Tony’s head forward the same instant that he stepped forward and drew Tony’s face between his legs, the tip of Tony’s nose just brushing the heat there, the familiar sweet swell. “Yes,” Steve said. “You are. Can’t you tell?”

Tony clutched at the back of Steve’s thighs, scrabbled at all that damn khaki. “Oh, _oh_. Professor, I--”

“So smart,” Steve rumbled above him. “You’re fucking smart, aren't you? Never let me get through a lecture without raising your hand to argue with me, do you?”

“I’m not trying to argue with you,” Tony said. He rubbed his lips against the hot line of Steve’s cock, jolted when Steve let go of a moan. “I just want to understand everything in your class. Everything that you say.”

“You want to understand it or you want to get a good grade?”

“Yes, I guess. Both.”

“Right now, I can only help you with one of those.” Steve’s free hand caught Tony’s shoulder and now he was good and trapped and fucking hell, Tony was so turned on he couldn’t see. “You ok with that?”

 _With this_ , Tony heard. _You ok with how this is going so far?_

Tony sighed, leaned the sound over the swell of Steve’s cock. “Yes, sir. I am.”

“Good,” Steve said, unsteady. “Then give me your hands, Tony. Open me up.” He softened his grip just a touch, just enough for Tony to pitch back and slip his fingers over the zipper, the button. “Good boy. That’s right. Come on.”

Tony hesitated. He lifted his eyes up to Steve’s, made his own as unsure as he could when he his whole body was screaming _yes please take_. “Professor Rogers, wait. I--I’ve never--”

“You’ve never what, honey? Never asked for extra help before? That’s all right. We all need it sometimes.”

“That’s not--no. I mean, I’ve never, uh”--Tony bit his lip--“I’ve never had anybody’s cock in my mouth before.”

And damn if he couldn’t fucking feel Steve’s dick twitch at that. He did his best not to grin. _Oh, Stevie_ , he thought. _My all-American blondie. I love you, you perv_.

Steve’s whole face flushed, along with the long strip of his throat, but he kept his voice steady, each word like a rock. “You haven’t, huh? Well. Then maybe there is something I can teach you today.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now take out my cock.”

Tony fumbled with the button, then started with the zipper.

“Careful,” Steve said, his nails kissing the back of Tony’s neck. “Careful now. Pull it down slow.”

He did as he was told, scrunching his face in concentration. It was a little tricky, given how stiff Steve was. Didn’t help that he was tipping his hips up, either, practically shoving himself at Tony’s hands as he murmured: “That’s right. That’s right.”

And then all that heat was free, jutting towards his face, rubbing against it, and it took every bit of willpower Tony had left in his arsonal not to swallow Steve down right the fuck then. Steve cock was pretty, always, big and jauntily curved. But now, hanging out of his nice respectable khakis, the soft white of his boxers be damned, Steve’s dick was gorgeous. The head was already red, like Tony had been sucking at it, and the tip was wet, precum smeared pretty over the slit, and if Tony had known that student/teacher roleplay would get Steve so hot, he’d have stripped down and bent himself over a desk a long fucking time ago.

He petted Steve’s hips and took a deep, shuddering breath. “What do you want me to do?”

Steve speared both hands through Tony’s hair. “Lick it for me. From the root to the tip. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Tony whispered. “I want to. It’s just--”

“Just what, honey?”

“Can I see all of it? All of you? I want--” He slid his fingers into the waist of Steve’s boxers, gave them a little tug. “I want to see you, Professor. Please.”

Steve growled, a low, helpless sound. “Yes. _Yes_. Whatever you want.”

Tony moved faster now, with more surety than some eighteen year old virgin would, but fuck, he felt like there were fireworks going off in his body and Steve hadn’t even touched him yet, not really, not in anyway that counted, but he knew if he looked down he’d see his own dick, thick and eager, half crowned out of his boxers just from this, from teasing, from steadily driving Steve out of his goddamned mind.

He tugged Steve’s boxers down, sent them and those fucking khakis up and over the swell of Steve’s ass, and by the time the whole mess met the floor, his tongue was already busy tracing the hot lines of that gorgeous cock.

Steve’s hands cupped the back of Tony’s head, firm and gentle. “Oh, yes. That’s nice. That’s so good, Tony. Mmmm. Put your hands on my hips, huh, hold on to me there while you-- _yes_.”

Tony lost himself in the sweet of it for a while, the slide; the warm, happy sounds Steve was making, the burning look in those blue, blue eyes. He circled the crown and lapped at the shaft and nuzzled the soft swell of Steve’s balls, traced them with short, tiny licks, and as much as he wanted to swallow and suck, he tried to keep his mouth tentative, just this side of uncertain, as if part of him were still a little afraid of how good this felt, how hot it made him to be tasting his professor’s big dick.

“Never would’ve guessed,” Steve murmured. “Never would have guessed that you wanted this.”

He breathed the word out over the head. “No?”

“No.” A soft, hot sigh. “You go out of your way to be such an asshole in class. I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I’m an asshole so you’ll talk to me,” Tony said. He bit a kiss into Steve’s hip. “So you’ll look at me. So you’ll notice. But you haven’t. I’ve sat in the front row all semester and you still didn’t--”

Steve’s hands hardened, forced Tony’s head up. “What are you talking about?”

There was a snake in Tony’s gut, a hot, crawling weight. “Why do you think I bombed my last paper?” he spat. “I wanted you to pay attention to me, damn it.”

Yes, he was pretending, but god, he remembered what that was like, when he’d first gotten to know Steve: feeling like Steve was looking right at him and still not seeing.

They’d met at a museum fundraiser where Steve was the keynote speaker and as the sponsor, it only made sense for Tony to ask for Steve’s contact info, for Steve to take his. They’d become friends that summer and it was great except Tony spent every goddamn second they were together and most when they weren’t aching to kiss Steve, to throw his arms around the man and have said man smile against his mouth and say: _I thought you’d never ask_.

But Steve didn’t look at him that way, gave no outward sign, and wary of chasing off the best friend he’d had in years, Tony clamped his mouth shut and kept it that way all summer long.

And then one hot August night, the frustration got the better of him and he’d let himself be goaded into a fist fight with some dumb society punk at a party. He knew better, of course he fucking did, but he was pissed off at himself, at Steve, at the fact that Steve’s job would take him away from the city nine months out of the year, and of course Steve was the one who pulled him off, who dragged him out of the party and shoved him into a car home and frog marched him upstairs and before Tony could get out two good words, Steve had him shoved in a corner, had Tony pinned to the wall with his hands and his hips and said: “Do you realize how stupid that was? Do you?”

It'd been impossible for Tony to think with Steve so close, to generate anything approaching coherency. “What?”

“That’s gonna be in all the papers tomorrow. You get that, right? Which is the last thing that you need. And you’re probably gonna have a black eye.”

“Ok,” he’d said, “so what? I’ve had worse.”

“God,” Steve had said, hot, right in Tony’s face, and only then did Tony realize Steve’s cock was pressing into his thigh. “You are the most infuriating human sometimes, Tony, I just don’t--”

Tony had clawed at Steve’s back, his nails digging into Steve’s dinner jacket. ”Yes, you do,” he’d said. “Now shut up and kiss me already.”

So that this kid, Steve’s pretend student, would need to go to similarly self-destructive extremes? Made total sense, Tony figured. To both of them.

“I thought you’d call me to your office,” Tony said. “I thought you’d yell at me. I thought you’d _care_. I thought you’d be mad.”

There was a storm on Steve’s face, a swirl of love and desire and steel. “Oh, honey,” he murmured. “Is that what you wanted?”

“Yes.”

“All of my attention focused on you?”

Tony closed his eyes. He had to; his cheeks were suddenly flame. “Yes, Professor Rogers.”

Steve caught a hold of his cock and traced the tip around the rose of Tony’s mouth. “So. You don’t want this, do you?”

Tony’s lids slid up. “Hmm?”

“My cock in your mouth.” He eased the tip over the crest of Tony’s lips. “My come in your throat or on your face. You don’t want any of that, is that right?”

Tony shook his head. “Do,” he managed. “Yes, I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Still figuring out the logistics of posting add-ons to earlier prompts; forgive me as I work out the kinks. Or, ah--you know what I mean.


End file.
